


Posthuman

by L_ecureuil



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fairies, If the shadow world had Speculative fiction, Immortal Alec Lightwood, Immortal Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, M/M, Other, Ursula LeGuin-esque, Utopia, enviromental wonderland future fic, hope-punk, immortal malec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 00:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_ecureuil/pseuds/L_ecureuil
Summary: Fairies have moved out of their dimension, bred into society and changed the world we know.It's 600 years in the future of the shadoworld and the leading expert in 21st century research and warlock theory has found a lead about the existence of warlocks. Her lead is a man named Alec Lightwood. The problem is he hasn't been seen for hundreds of years.(This is a Malec story, it just takes a chapter or two to get to them)





	Posthuman

_Name: Murielle – Meaning: Shining like the Sea_

Murielle’s gleaming eka worm sleeves flattened over her tide pool and upon saturation spread out around her. They were covered in pearly. She’d found pearls more likable recently, they used to be a pigeonhole for her mer people, but she’d grown to ignore the stereotypes and when she did, she found it more freeing to wear them. It was like what she’d read about the colour pink once being a girl colour, and how fighting internalized misogyny had made people realize what kind of construct it was.

 

For the mer, wearing pearls could be tacky because everyone had access to them. They were used when parodying people of her blood, and she’d often heard jokes related to them. It took realizing pearl’s iridescence were the product of several moons work. That help her come to terms with the fact that they were fantastic pieces of nature. They suited her too.

 

“You’re so beautiful, Murielle,” Chanthavy said, earning a kiss on the cheek.

 

“And so are you,” Murielle said, brushing her wet fingers through her partner’s hair, accidentally loosening a leaf into the calm tide.

 

“You were so excited to tell me about your research this morning,” Chanthavy said, returning the kiss with a peck on the lips, “Yet you’ve gone quiet.”

 

Murielle’s eyes lit up, “I didn’t think you wanted to hear more. I’ve just been vibrating with it for a while. I know I can be overwhelming,” she said.

 

“I don’t mind hearing about them, Murielle,” Chanthavy said, her warm dark eyes playful, “It’s _when_ you decide to tell me that is bad. Like when we’re on a hunt and we’ve spotted our target,” Murielle groaned, hiding her face with her webbed hands, “And you, suddenly remember, oh, this is a good time to speak about some ancient figure you’ve never met. Or that time at the dinner table—don’t hide your face—where you had to explain to our guests from the Clave how Marbas demons reproduce.”

 

“I didn’t realize, I was just so—”

 

“So caught up in research that you accidently made the Clave inquire about your bedfellows?”

 

“It was an accident!” Murielle said fiercely, “And you know that gutsy satyr-born hated me! He’s a complete scoundrel and he had his eyes on you all night as if he wanted his tongue in your ear.”

 

“Don’t make it about me,” Chanthavy said cattily, with the roll of her eyes. “Anyway, tell me what was so exciting that you couldn’t wait until after breakfast?”

 

Murielle said, “I’ve been looking through legends, and it is said that Warlocks used to be able to make a direct calls to demons. Imagine how useful that would be if we could just call on demons whenever?”

 

“What would you want with them?” Chanthavy said, “What would you possibly want to talk to a demon for?”

 

“Well, it’s not, they could ask them to help or take revenge on a single demon by raising them to destroy them or to crack a case,” Murielle blushed green, “I’m sure there’s many reasons you’d rant to raise demons.”

 

“You know,” Chanthavy said, “Our ancestors used to have access to demon dimensions. It’s possible that what you’re reading is an offshoot of Warlocks actually being the ancient Fairies that used to live by the trans-dimensional doors.”

 

 “I don’t believe your theory about Warlocks actually being Fairies!” Murielle said, “Because they’re never depicted with our ears, and we know that demon and Fairy babies result in stillbirths just like Nephilim and demon babies.”

 

Chanthavy creased her eyebrows, leaning her head to the side, “I know it’s unethical to see what a demon and human baby looks like, so we’ve never tested it, but what if it isn’t possible either? A full human with a demon child. The chances of a cross between them is so incredibly thin. It’s like crossing a zebra with a cat. Most demons don’t even seem close enough to human DNA, and we know humans lack the demonic and angelic sides.”

 

Murielle hated when her belief in Warlocks was questioned but she knew Chanthavy was just preparing her for when she had to face the academics.

 

“Fairies are supposed to be part demon so if there’s demon blood in us,” Murielle argued, “Why can’t demon blood exist out there in other people?”

 

“That’s just part of the creation myth.” Chanthavy shook her head.

 

“Well, there’s a new excavation site and they want me there. It’s dated for the early 21st century. I think I might be able to find some answers and I really want you to be there for me.”

 

“What kind of site is it?”

 

“You know how we used to have an electronic database on hard drives back before the organic compounds?” Murielle said, “In an excavations of Western Deciduous they found scraps of old Clave databases. Since I’m the leading Nephilim expert in 21st century happenings, I’ve been called to look through the area. I want you to be there with me because, I know even if you have doubts on this dream I have about Warlocks, you’re always there for me and I love you.”

 

Chanthavy softened, taking Murielle’s hand in the tepid water, “I’ll be there. Someone has to make sure you set your breathing tank right.”

 

Murielle crashed into Chanthavy, smothering her with kisses, “I expect nothing less,” she said.

 

 _________

 

The excavation site was amazing. It was the bottom of a place which had once been a church (a sacred mundane building). The rocks were stuffed around with energy intensive cement, the kind that was linked closely to the over-production of anthropogenic CO2. It was so old that Murielle had difficulty imagining what life would have been like in this site back when it was still part of a city named Toronto in the arbitrary lines of a place once named Canada. The air must have been ghastly during those days. Nephilim back then had almost all been part mundane more than Fairy and had little magic. They had no official divisions of any job except their armies, Downworlder diplomacy and the parts done by the early Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters. With the average lifespan of thirty, Nephilim in the 21st century were in constant war and living in secret with glamours at all times. Their child raising tactics had been so terrible that they were centuries behind even mundanes in that area. They quite simply raised children to kill with no interest in greater pillars like empathy and self-soothing. It sounded like a nightmare. Very few texts spoke pleasantly of that time.

 

Murielle’s breathing mechanism gurgled against her gills, which was always a bit embarrassing so she asked a question to break the silence over top her machine.  “What year was this Institute closed in?” Murielle asked, running her hand against the stones.

 

“2079,” the Elf-Nephilim responded.

 

“That minus… That means it’s been six hundred years,” Murielle said, “It’s amazing this place has lived this long. Usually they used cheap products for construction. This isn’t even that north of a place. It’s not like the Arctic temperatures are keeping it fresh.”

 

“There’s traces of strange magic here,” the Elf-Nephilim responded, “We’ve been hoping you could help translate these documents so that we know what kind of magic it is.”

 

“You don’t already know?” Murielle said.

 

“It doesn’t feel regular,” the Elf-Nephilim said, “And it’s very faint but it feels like it’s trying to assure the safety of the walls. There’s no clear source of it anywhere, no talisman or plant holding the spell together that we’ve been able to find.”

 

Murielle tried holding in her excitement, “Give me the documents,” she said, taking out her organic to electronic adapter. He passed her the box.

 

Murielle had to put her hand on her heart to track its palpitations. “The chip, it’s unrusted. I don’t know how it’s possible,” she said in awe. “It’s so pretty.”

 

She took out her lab glasses and began tinkering with the magnificent chip. It took her a moment to get it how she wanted under the reader, before she opened it on her device by connecting the piece to the tissues of her power source. “We’ve found a few of these before but they’ve always just lead to clean slates and mundane documents. Ever since they destroyed the main database in Idris in 2325 and apparently transferred everything, we’ve been missing entire pieces of history,” she said, “We know that the information was tampered with in the early days,” she explained, “But I’ve always wondered who tampered with it,” she said, “Why would they only give half-truths?”

 

“They were known for corrupt agendas,” the Elf-Nephilim said, “It’s not uncommon. They were always at war back then.”

 

Murielle raked her eyes over the English text, trying to make sense of it in its twenty-first century form. “These are files on Nephilim soldiers, like a rank system,” she said, “These are super old names,” she said, trying to say the names with her current accent so that he could hear them properly, “Look at that, Blackwell, Maplestark, Markright, Lightwood, Stairthrush. I’ll need to cross reference them in my research division,” she said. Her division was only her and her office was her bedroom, but he didn’t need to know that. “You have no idea how excited I am to see this,” she said. “Are we going to bring in an expert on magic?” she said.

 

“They’re going to be a week late,” The Elf-Nephilim said. “They’re busy with the ley sink hole in Bermuda.”

 

“That thing is _always there_ ,” Murielle said nasally, “We’re not going to go any further with it!” she said with her hands thrown around her. She scampered to catch her reader when she nearly dropped it.

 

“People say history is frozen. It’s not like this place is going anywhere either.”

 

Murielle had a sinking feeling that a place as interesting as this wasn’t safe, but she didn’t know why she thought that. It felt precious and too good to be true.

 

 ___

 

“I’m going to bring you there tomorrow!” Murielle said, “Oh Chanthavy, it’s so strange in there. It’s a garbage hole but I feel I could live in it,” she said.

 

“Go to bed,” Chanthavy said, pawing at Murielle, “Your pool is already prepared, go before you have to filter your water tank over.”

 

“I’m going to look over the names before bed,” Murielle said, “Only after I feel really connected am I going to plunge to sleep.”

 

“Mmph,” Chanthavy said, smushing her cute face into her moss bed.

 

Murielle let out a giggle before she took the witchlight with her to her sleeping pool. Dropping the witchlight into the water to light the water, Murielle took her organic research tablet with her into the pool, easing in. The fresh water felt like heaven on her tank filtered gills. She took off her air walking mechanism and pitched it off to the side somewhere.

 

Murielle knew she had to sleep but the files were just there, and she’d compressed them for hours. Having them in her hands felt dear and exciting. She began by cross referencing all the names of the soldiers in the documents with Clave files to see if they connected to other files she knew.

 

Conserving those old Clave files had been such a hassle, she and the Academy had to host _so many_ protests over the importance of research about the 21st century and beyond. It took getting the family heritage network to help them, because they wanted to trace bloodlines for the popular opinion of the Nephilim Conclave to change sides.

 

The chip read easily. It felt miraculous. Maybe the strange magic was at work on it too. But something was becoming incredibly apparent as she looked through the chip files. There were about 60 Nephilim in them, and only three or so were not in the Clave directory. Two of those files were about children who died under the age of 2. That left one complete file about a Nephilim soldier, and he could not be found in any of the Clave databases. Murielle let bubbles out of her mouth, searching, cross referencing. She couldn’t believe it. A full file existed on someone no one knew about.

 

_Name: Alexander (Alec) Gideon Lightwood_

_Date of Birth: 1993 – Immortal_

_Affiliation: Shadowhunter, Head of the New York Institute_

_Height: 6’3_

_Classification: Very Dangerous_

_Specialties: Archery, close combat, fighter training, diplomacy, linguistics, mission tactician._

_Background: Born in Idris, raised in exile at the New York City Institute. Was a key fighter in the second Valentine Uprising, the re-signing of the Eleventh Accords…_

 

There was even a photo, a thumbnail of a young man with a serious set to his face. His hair was short and wavy, his ears rounded at the tips. He looked like an ancient, and that was what he was. 600 years ago, this photo was taken.

 

“I wonder what these eyes have seen?” Murielle pondered. She lamented it.

_Honours: As a specialist in Warlock relations, he was granted Spiral Labyrinth honorary membership in 2023 for extraordinary service._

 

Murielle’s eyes bulged. “Sweet nebula, it says Warlocks,” she murmured into the echo of her pool. That word didn’t exist anywhere on Clave documents before the year of 2300 except in engravings and paper texts: the few paper texts she was allowed.  

 

 Then something struck her.

 

_Date of Birth: 1993 – Immortal_

 

“What the _Hell_?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't read any of the books past TID and TMI so I'm winging it on the fairy lore. Plus this is 600 years in the future so I can do what I want~ *jazz hands*


End file.
